The day misfortune struck the Rossi family, it came like an uninvited guest,
Slow,
Confident,
No permission,
No warning,
Marcello Rossi collapsed quietly.
Not dramatically.
Not in front of anyone important.
Just one hand on the kitchen table, the other still dusted with flour that no longer had a place to go.
Lucia heard the sound first—the chair scraping, the dull thud of weight meeting tile.
"Marcello?" she called.
No answer.
When she reached him, he was on his knees, breath shallow, eyes unfocused like he was staring through the room instead of at it.
"Marcello," she said again, louder now. "Look at me."
He tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
He was then rushed to government hospital
No large bills to be paid
The doctor's office smelled of antiseptic and waiting.
Isabella sat stiffly beside Andrea, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Andrea hadn't taken his jacket off. He looked like he was afraid that if he loosened anything, the whole world would slip apart.
Lucia stood across from the doctor, hands clenched.
"Stress," the man said carefully. "Severe. Prolonged."
"Stress?" Lucia repeated. "He just fell."
"Yes," the doctor said gently. "That's how it happens when the body has been ignored for too long."
He looked down at his notes.
"High blood pressure. Tremors. Exhaustion. He needs rest. Medication. And above all—removal from strain."
Lucia let out a short, broken laugh. "From what?"
The doctor didn't answer.
Marcello lay in bed that night, awake.
The apartment was too quiet.
He listened to Lucia's careful breathing beside him, to the muffled sounds of Isabella moving in the kitchen, trying to keep things normal.
"I failed," he whispered into the dark.
Lucia turned toward him. "Don't."
"I couldn't protect them," he said. "I couldn't keep the shop. I couldn't keep Andrea in school."
Lucia pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "You kept us alive," she said fiercely. "That is not nothing."
Tears slipped into the pillow anyway.
Andrea stood in the doorway, unseen.
He heard everything.
Later, he went into the bathroom and stared at his reflection.
Sixteen.
No uniform.
No school.
No job.
Just responsibility that didn't fit his hands.
"I'll fix this," he whispered to the mirror. "Somehow."
Across the city, Otilla D'Este read the update without expression.
"Hospital?" she asked.
"Yes, Signorina," the voice replied. "Not serious. Yet."
Otilla closed the folder.
"Good," she said calmly. "Illness changes people. It makes them… agreeable."
She rose from her chair and walked to the window.
Below, the city glowed, unaware.
"Let him rest," Otilla added. "Just enough to understand how fragile everything is."
She smiled faintly.
Because broken men did not fight back.
They begged.
And Otilla was very generous with mercy—
when it suited her.